


Hot Like Burning

by islandgirl_246



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bounty Hunter Stiles Stilinski, Danny Mahealani - Freeform, Derek Hale - Freeform, Ennis (Teen Wolf) - Freeform, Laura Hale - Freeform, M/M, Mentioned Gerard Argent, Mentioned Kate Argent, Minor Violence, Original Characters - Freeform, Post Hale Fire, Pre-Slash, Sassy Peter, mentions of - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5749477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandgirl_246/pseuds/islandgirl_246
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter takes off on a Caribbean getaway but is faced with an unexpected threat when a Bounty Hunter comes to collect - dead or alive or barely alive (frankly any how will do).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read a lot of Steter fics, but this is my very first contribution to the fandom. Hope you enjoy!

Yep, that was a claw at his throat. A pointy, sharp, deadly claw belonging to a werewolf known for killing first and not even bothering to ask questions after.

Stiles eased up from his crouch on the edge of the beachfront property Hale was renting on this supposed vacation (more like a hideout), in an attempt not to impale himself on the deadly fingers now encircling his throat. The threat of the fingers around his neck almost cutting off his air and circulation to his brain, squeezed just a bit tighter - as if there could be any need to further convey the seriousness of this situation he had stupidly found himself in.

He was a professional bounty hunter for Pete's sake, and here he was at the mercy of his mark. It was a rookie level mistake that could cost him his life. Stupid, stupid.

"Who sent you?" The question was grated between what was undoubtedly now some very pointy teeth in an elongated jaw. When there was no response, the hand squeeze a little tighter, followed by a little shake.

"I won't ask you again, boy. Who sent you?"

"Air, air," Stiles wheezed and then coughed as the fingers loosened marginally to allow some bloodflow to his brain and stave off the black dots that were starting to swirl before his eyes. "Why the hell should I tell you anything Wolf. You're just going to kill me anyway."

"Well you can decide just how much pain you're going to be in before the end. Your choice!" Hale said, his breath practically brushing Stiles' left ear, his voice even with glacial calm.

"You're a true bastard you know that Hale, and a beast to suit. That boy was just 11, his sister was eight. They were all their mother had left and you butchered them in cold blood. You deserve to die for what you did."

For a minute there was near absolute silence as crickets chirped seemingly unperturbed in some nearby brush and the waves crashed on distant sandy shores, belying the tense scene unfolding a short distance away. The moonlight, big and bright above, was the only illumination on this end of the beach.

Hale had chosen the very last house on the stretch of southern coastline - far enough away from neighbours to be secluded with enough isolation to allow him to come and go freely down into the bushy gully area when his wolf demanded freedom. It was perfect for a beast to prowl and also how Stiles had gained access to the property. It had been almost a 45-minute hike from the eastern side where he had parked his rental to the bare edge of the property. Also perfect to butcher and dispose of a body in the dark of night.  
Stiles was about to become a statistic - that was of course, if Hale left anything for even wild animals furthermore the authorities to find.

"What? Nothing to say you bastard? Go on, get it over with."

Still no sound. No defense of indefensible actions. Not like Stiles expected any. He could still hear the screams and cries of the mother as she mourned the loss of her two children, blaming herself for leaving them alone because she had to work a later shift.  
It was the Argent hunter who had identified the murderer and Stiles who had volunteered for the contract to catch the wolf and return him dead or alive for justice. Argent had wanted this one herself, but some silent communication between father and daughter across the expanse of the table was enough to have her smiling and withdrawing to allow Stiles to take up their contract. Kate had had all the evidence linking Hale to the killings; said she'd been tracking the monster for the past three years having thought him dead with the rest of his family so long ago.

The nephew, Derek, they said had proclaimed Hale's innocence calling Argent a "traitorous bitch" and "liar". He'd declared his uncle would never have done this, but after he'd been forced to admit that Hale had murdered his sister, Hale's own niece, it was all the evidence Stiles' already hot head needed to go after Hale himself.

"Who are you? What do you want with me, hunter?"

"I want your head in a basket for the murder of those children. That's what I want," Stiles spat, turning his head slightly as he spoke, face close enough to the side of Hale's own to take in the half-shifted wolf and the frown between his forehead.

The furrow deepened as Hale listened for the tell-tale skip of a heartbeat, the change in scent to betray deception, the words that would reveal hidden racism or speciesism, whatever one wanted to call it. But the longer he waited, the only thing he could hear was a rapidly, off kilter beating heart similar to that of a rabbit, but steady enough. He only smelled the ferociously angry musk that wafted from the pale, mole dotted skin that seemed to glow in the moonlight, with a seeming distain for his action. Actions, that even now Peter had no clue how he'd been even accused of something he knew nothing about.

But there was a whiff of something from the hunter's vest that reminded him ever so slightly of a certain Argent whose blood his wolf wanted in the worst way. Even now, his wolf raise its angry head at the scent and Peter's eyes glowed that damning blue that seemed to incense the small hunter even more. He was all but vibrating beneath that pale skin.

"If you're here working with the Argents to frame me for something I did not do, hunter, I will rip your throat out right here, right now."

For some reason his wolf rose snarling to the surface, shaking itself in confusion and in opposition to his own wants. Something about this hunter was causing his wolf to shake and shudder beneath his skin. His human half demanded he kill this hunter and get this charade over with, neutralise the threat; but his wolf had him staying his hand. His skin itched and the smell from right there in the crook of this boy of a man's neck was slowly driving his wolf bat-shit crazy with anxiety - the intriguing kind that he had not felt for too long. Who was this man?

"Who are you?" The words left his lips in a whisper before he could even call them back.

"My name is Stiles and I'm a bounty hunter, Wolf. I'm here to bring you to justice for the murders you've committed in Beacon Hills," the hunter said confidently.

Peter recognised the name instantly and thrust the man away from him, hands dropping loosely to his sides, claws extended as he readied himself to fight to the death if needs be, but he wanted some answers first and he couldn't think with the man in his arms. "I haven't killed any children, so if you're here to frame me for something hunter, you'd better truly take my head because I'm not going quietly."

The amber eyes glinted in the moonlight and narrowed to mere slits as the hunter slid a knife with a wicked serated blade from some hidden crevice into his hands in one smooth motion before Peter could fully blink. He made no move to attack though and Peter wondered yet again, why the hunter had come for him. As far as he knew, Stiles Stilinski's reputation was solid - more know for his fear dealings even with the criminals as well as his considerable combat skills.

"Argent is the murderer of children, not me, and if you're working with them against me boy, I can promise it will be your worst and last mistake." Lips peeled back from Peter's teeth as he readied himself for battle against this slick, calculating opponent. If it was war they wanted, he would bring it to them and there would be nothing but blood and carnage once he was done. But for some reason his wolf was refusing to let him harm this man-boy, and he shook his head again in an attempt to focus his other half on the dangerous task ahead - getting through his accuser.

Thoughts swirled in Stiles head at lightning speed. For the first time since he'd witness the carnage left of the two children and heard about the wolf that "did it", Stiles now paused to reassess. Yes, this wolf was dangerous, no doubt. The flashing blue eyes were proof enough of his ability to claim innocent lives and the wolf would know he knew what the glowing eyes meant, but yet he showed them brazenly even as he denied the killings. That act, more than anything, was what stayed Stiles' wolfbane-tipped knif.

They wouldn't lie to him would they? They would not send him after the wrong man... wolf? They could not be that foolish. People who knew his name knew he always got his man, no matter whether the information provided him was true or false, he was always able to sus out the truth and "get his man" and heaven help those who tried to get him to kill wrongfully. The bodies in his past should have been warning enough.

He slowly shifted from his attack stance, sliding the knife from attack to a neutral position as he regarded the wary wolf before him. If that Argent bitch had lied to him, he would peel the flesh from her bones and Lord help the old patriarch that had stood with her and painted a villainous tale about the Hale murderer.

"Wolf, I think we need to talk."

Peter's almost growled when his wolf preened in the face of what was looking like a reprieve.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really did intend this to be a one-off, one chapter contribution, then I got home and my computer, she whispered at me and then winked. So here goes. I promise it won't be a very long fic, but I will try to see where this goes. Aiming for no more than 5 to 7 chapters, the max. Hope Lexie, my computer, behaves and doesn't run away with herself.  
> Thanks for the encouragement those that sent comments and the kudos have been surprising in a warm and fuzzy way.

Peter headed straight to the fridge to grab a beer, holding up a second bottle in offer to the hunter. A quick shake had him replacing the second bottle and turning fully to face Stiles. 

In the light of the kitchen, he took a long draw from the Banks Beer, a local brew from the island he was on, eyes never once leaving the brunette. The lad's hair was spiked in all directions and there were more moles dotting his skin than it first appeared, and those honeyed whiskey eyes right now were pinned to his chest.

Peter glanced down at himself with a frown, trying to ascertain what the hunter was observing with such sharp focus and realised it would have to be his v-neck T. He raised the bottle, curling his lips around the mouth to take another drink and hopefully avoid the smirk that he could feel crawling up his face. He didn't think the hunter would appreciate the humour.

Stiles seemed to mentally shake himself, even as his entire being gave the impression of continuous movement. If he kept this up  
Peter's wolf was likely to start rising to the surface to play, and no, with this particular hunter? Just no.

"You can sit, you know," he said flatly, gesturing to the chair on the nearby kitchen island.

"Rather stand," was the clipped response that came back.

"Suit yourself." Peter dragged the nearest chair from the table, swinging it around to straddle it, crossing his arms across the back, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. "So talk."

For a second, the hunter went absolutely still - not a twitch of any kind. Just when Peter's skin started to itch with uneasy, Stiles exhaled and moved again, pacing a small patch of floor as he twirled the big, sharp blade in his hands with impressive dexterity.

"Tell me something first. What do the Argents have against you?"

"You mean beyond the obvious? Us, werewolves; them, hunters? You mean beyond the fact that their business is culling my kind?"

"I mean you, Hale. Why would they want you in particular dead? If it was your family, your nephew and niece, Cora, would have been pelt for their carpets long ago. Why does the big G have a hard-on for you, Wolf, because I can tell you he does, and it's only a fraction of the hate his daughter's lugging around behind that attractive face.

"Now me? I figured they wanted you buried for that family's murder, but you don't strike me as a man who lies easily. Obfuscate and manipulate, yes, but outright lies? Hmmm, I'm starting to think that's not really your style. So enlighten me, Wolf and don't make me regret not killing you out there."

The last comment surprised a bark of laughter from Peter. "Kill me? You're getting ahead of yourself, aren't you, Little Red?"

The only response to the nickname was the raising of a single brow, but somehow the name seemed to suit this lithe, tightly muscled, compact young man whose every movement was a study in efficiency. He was hot, in every definition of the word.

"The Argents were responsible for the death of our family. They tried to wipe the Hales off the face of the earth and failed. So far several of their co-conspirators are dead, but the main people who orchestrated the whole thing are a little harder to get to than it appears. The father never goes out any more..."

"He's bound to a wheelchair now," Stiles interrupted quickly, falling silent just as immediately as he'd spoken.

"Hmmm ... and the daughter, fled to this island and spent the last five years travelling between here, France and Switzerland, but mostly based here. I've been here for the last two months..."

At that Stiles head snapped, and suddenly his scent went sharp, dangerous, eyes almost gold. "Two months? The island's records say you entered three weeks ago, just two days after the murders," Stiles accused, voice pitched low, but enough for the werewolf to pick up his words.

Peter chuckled, but without a hint of mirth. "I'm not surprised. Luckily my passport has the stamp of proof, even if the digital records say something else. Those can be doctored."

"So can a stamp." Stiles' voice was blade sharp.

"Yes, but as you pointed out, I have no reason to lie."

"I never said you didn't have a reason to lie. I said lies don't seem like your usual forte."

"And you are correct."

"So why here? Why come here, when Argent was already back in Beacon Hills five months ago, within a paws reach, if you want her so bad?"

"Nuh uh." Peter leaned forward, every bit in predator mode. "You first, Red. Why were you so convinced I'd done these murders? I was under the impression your research is usually impeccable."

For the first time since he discovered a claw at his neck, Stiles seemed discomforted. He ran a quick hand through his hair, causing it to stand even more at attention, as if that was possible. "My research is, but it would seem my temporary employers knew which scabs to rub, and how sharp a poker to apply to the wound. It will never happen again. They won't get the chance."

Peter swallowed, throat suddenly dry at the retribution the golden eyes promised. "She's mine," he croaked. No way was Argent's blood coating any hands but his own.

A slow, lazy and decidedly wolfish smile crept onto Stiles' face, "I make no promises, Wolf."

"Then how about a barter?"

Shrewed eyes raked over him like suggestive fingers, "Now what could you have that I'd possibly want?" 

Peter finally let the smirk cross his lips, lifting the bottle to drain the last drop, as Stiles eyes followed the bobbing of his Adam's apple, slight colour dotting his pale, mole-smattered cheeks. 

Good, this game had just moved into Peter's territory, just where he wanted it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misunderstandings and hot heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice I've changed the archive warnings a bit for this chapter specifically and moving forward with the final two chapters after. There is a bit of violence, talk of violence and blood, so hopefully this doesn't have any triggers for anyone. Some talk of what happened to the children. Also what we down here in my part of the world call cussing (swear words).  
> Two more days to go and two chapters already mostly written. Enjoy. Feedback is appreciated.

He's cute. Ok, blast it, he's gorgeous and he knows it. But if he thinks he can use it as some kind of bargaining chip, obviously he doesn't know whom he's dealing with, and Stiles would enjoy every moment of making sure he understood.

Even as his teeth grinded together and he was between minds to turn around and head right out the back door, back to Beacon Hills and take care of Kate himself, the wolf spoke hurriedly, "The Argents lied to you; used you as their patsy to get to me. Obviously they weren't expecting you'd be caught so easily, or that I wouldn't kill you once I found you, or vice versa." 

Peter rested the empty beer bottle on the table, ignoring the narrowing of Stiles lips in clear displeasure at being reminding of his faux pas. This wolf didn't hold his punches, but then Stiles would've been disappointed even more if he did. He'd never let this smug bastard know it though. "Is there a point or something worth bartering somewhere in there, Wolf? Or do you just like the sound of your own voice?" he snapped.

"My point is there is a unique opportunity here to unravel an entire illegal network of hunters and exporters who run an international ring that trades exclusively in the supernatural."

And with those few words, Stiles was all but vibrating again. He would never have just taken this wolf's word for it, but he'd been on the heels of the very same kind of network when he'd landed in Beacon Hills and came across the family of coyotes. All that had been left of the boy and his sister were mere scraps and a trail of blood indicating where the girl had been dragged away before she too was dispatched. They still weren't sure which part belonged to which child. The mother had been beyond distraught and had to be sedated because she could barely hold onto her shift in her despair.

"I'm listening." If the Wolf had the information he needed to shut this ring down he'd barter the clothes right off his back. If he was being lied to again, there wouldn't be enough of Hale left to identify the remains, furthermore collect any bounty.

"Now before we go any further, the price of my information is Kate Argent. No one touches her but me. I owe her," Peter growled as his eyes glowed their supernatural blue.

Stiles regarded him shrewdly. "So what's in this for me exactly?" No need to give away just how badly he wanted what the wolf knew.  
"I don't suppose most people know about the charity you support, where you dedicate most of what you earn from these so-called jobs of yours?"

The knife that had been slowly turning between Stiles' fingers, moved fluidly as he contemplated the distance between himself and the were seated with fake calm at the table. He calculated the velocity of the throw needed to imbed the knife in the wolf's chest and make it across the distance between them to finish the job with minimal injuries to himself. He considered the best place for the blade to puncture, the possible scenarios for blood splatter and whether he could complete the kill without soiling his favourite shoes. Tricky, but doable, and right now this werewolf was walking on the edge of his nerves with information he should not possess.

"Whatever it is you think you know about me, Wolf. I can promise you it won't do you any good where you're going."

In the blink of an eye the chair was overturned and Peter was across the room, thrown blade already protruding from his right shoulder. Now that just pissed Stiles off even more. He never missed. Even as the thought surfaced he was reacting when a clawed left hand wrapped around his throat, lifting the smaller man off his feet to slamming him against the flat surface of the kitchen island.  
With agility born of long hours of training and a reputation only whispered about, Stiles leveraged the wolf's strength to attempt to pry the fingers loose and bring his legs up around the arm holding him down, attempting to twist his way from beneath the pointy sharp grasp, as he arched his back to give himself momentum to possibly swing his way up around the wolf's neck before he passed out from the loss of air and while the wolfsbane kicked in. This was the second time the wolf had pinned him tonight and there would not be a third. Peter was already grasping the blade with his right hand and pulling the dripping, serated edge from the meat of his shoulder.

"Calm the fuck down, will you? That wasn't a threat, Stiles. Jesus, and they call me hot headed."  
Stiles' pause was infinitesimal as he scaled his way up over Peter's left shoulder, breaking the hold on his throat and executing a quick manoeuvre to topple the wolf onto his back, relieving Peter of the weapon he'd just removed from his shoulder and pressing it tight against the wolf's juggular. He wasn't just any hunter, God dammit! He was Stiles Fucking Stilinski and this Wolf would do well to remember it.

"Talk," Stiles grated, applying pressure to the knife, breathing deeply to bring his heart rate under control.

"I know you help those who've been displaced for whatever reason. You give them sanctuary. I know you own the bar called Sanctuary down in Louisianna. The one that's considered neutral ground for both hunters and people like me.

"I just thought you'd want to help liberate a few in need of help, while shutting this network down for good. That's all I was trying to say. Now let me the fuck up before this wolfsbane kills me, asshole."

Black lines were already spreading out from the wound in the shoulder. He exhaled and released the left hand still in his grip and trapped between his legs. "Where do you get your information?"

"Nope, let me get my kit first. My arm's starting to go numb,," he responded, jostling Stiles in his attempt to displace the hunter.

"WHERE!?"

Peter rolled his eyes. Talk about extreme anger issues? He lay back on the floor as still as he could to reinforce he was not a threat to the hunter, but rather wanted his help. It wouldn't do just yet to go proving he could overpower him, however difficult the task might be. Brute power he could do. Jet Li, he was not.

"I know a hacker. He works for Argent but under duress. She's had him secreted away here. It's how they've been doctoring the documents to get the creatures where they need them to go without raising red flags. Like I said, professional network. He wants out, so we struck a deal. He's the one that told me about Sanctuary."

Stiles switched the blade into his left hand, secured Peter's arm between his legs firmly as he reached into his back pocket and retreived a small plastic package. Ripping it open with his teeth, he pulled back the V of the ridiculous shirt and poured the contents onto the wound. Once that was done he released the hand between his legs and stood in a single graceful motion, moving backwards and not taking his eyes off Peter.

"You're the complete package aren't you?" the wolf asked, face impressed, with something deeper, and very predatory flickering around the edges.

Stiles had no time and no patience for that something else - certainly not now, and not with this particular wolf. That's just asking for the kind of trouble he only sought when bored. He was far from bored here.

"You'd better believe it," he said backing up with a cheeky grin - and then promptly fell, flailing over the overturned chair behind him.

Peter's surprised laughter went straight to his stomach, even as he scrambled to right himself with a self-deprecating shake of his head. And he'd been doing so well too, damn this wolf. The man fogged his brain faster than anyone ever had. His damn emotions were all over the place. He was a professional, dammit. People shivered at the thought of him on their trail, and he was being undone by a simple were - and a canine at that. He didn't even have the decency to be exotic - a dragon or phoenix, even an Abominable Snowman would do, but no, Stiles would be the one hunter intrigued by a fricking werewolf.

Suddenly serious again, Peter told him, "To answer your earlier question, we were looking to Sanctuary to possibly hide some of the victims who have been 'liberated' in the past six weeks. We've been working quietly and hoping the Argents and their web of evil hadn't realised who was behind the rescues. Just as they have their network, I have a few allies I trust to whom I've been feeding information and they handle the rescues.

"Right now we've been using a ranch outside Montana to house some of the victims til we can get them back to their families, at least those who still have families or packs not eliminated by the network, but we're fast running out of space, so we were looking to Sanctuary as a possible partner. Your being here though suggest they know more about my involvement than I though. It also means I need to get to Danny. I need to get him out tonight, if he's not dead already."

Stiles regarded Peter, who had risen with a slight grimace, flexing his injured but slowly healing shoulder and the fingers of his left hand. He'd just been beaten by a very human hunter, stabbed with a wolfsbane-infected knife and almost killed, but his first concern was his snitch and hacker. Stiles tried not to be impressed. He was trying damned hard not to be impressed by this blue-eyed devil. He wasn't succeeding.

"Let me bandage that arm and we can go get your boy."

"Don't be jealous. He's just a contact, an asset. That's all." The smirk was back, so clearly the wolfsbane hadn't done the bastard as much damage as it should've. He'd need to have a talk with his supplier when he got home.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Wolf. The only thing you have that I want is the information to shut this ring down. So let's get to it."

Now the smirk had turned into a full fledged grin complete with cerulean eyes, and Stiles knew was a goner. How the hell was this his life?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It just got real!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry folks... Really meant to post last night but got home to the Internet on the fritz again. So good morning - from my part of the globe - and hope you enjoy this. It's a little longer than the other chapters so far and a lot more narrative.  
> Wrapping it up tomorrow.

Danny had been in hiding. Every clue he'd left, clues that only Peter would understand, had indicated he was in hiding, but not dead. Thank God.

Now he was firmly on their side, secreted away, for real this time, by a witch, a good old friend of Peter's. He'd known Heather from a little boy, when Talia was still his pain-in-the-ass older sister, bossing him around at 8 years older than he was then. Heather had been a friend and ally to their mother when she was alive, and a confidant and advisor to Talia years later when she took on the mantle of Alpha.

So Danny was in a position to feed them all the information they needed, without worrying about his safety.

And Peter was tired. Damn was he tired. He didn't know the last time he'd been this exhausted, traipsing from one Caribbean island to another following cold trails that still managed to cough up another clue (or five) when the right pressure was applied. Interestingly, that pressure proved to be 5' 11" and 160 pounds of 24-year old pale and deadly muscle. The body count was starting to ratch up and not even Peter in his revenge days (not that they'd be done til Kate had breathe her last), was as efficient a machine as a coldly focussed and determined Stiles Stilinski.

Peter already knew first hand that this compact machine packed quite a wallop, and frankly he was not interested in any repeats, at least not for anything other than recreation. He almost smiled, thinking about the recreational activities he could get up to with the very, very limbre Stiles. 

Shit! Stop! Stop right now, he admonished with his brain. Focus!

Stiles would kick his ass if he knew where his thoughts had just been. The man was all business and Peter sometimes wondered what he did for fun. It was like he'd shut himself off from anything but the mission. 

So far they had closed three chapters of the network stretching across a few Caribbean countries and now they were headed to France to shut it down at the source. Danny had linked up with a few buddies who were happy to hear he was safe since he'd went MIA for the past five years after applying and accepting a "hush hush" job with "great pay" and promises of being his own boss. He'd been afraid to even reach out to his friends for fear of getting one of them killed, he'd told Peter and Stiles, with the constant threat of his mom's life hanging in the balance if he screwed up. That was at least until Peter had come along and disappeared his mother from right under the noses of the network goons assigned to keep an eye on her. She was safe too and he'd do whatever to screw the Argents to hell and back.

Danny and his pals were currently working their way carefully through the financial and online end of the network. By the time they were done, the main players in this dirty little scheme would be bankrupt, social pariahs, in prison or dead. Any combination of the four would be acceptable. He was just waiting for Peter and Stiles to pull the trigger and give them the go ahead to activate the real shut down. 

Right now, large sums were being slowly siphoned from accounts around the globe into those of the victims. They would be more than compensated for what they suffered, and they still had not tracked down everyone who had been sold. Some had already been killed in hunting games, others with injuries too severe to survive long, so palliative care had to be arranged for some, others still, were missing suspected dead or worse.

"Where are you?"

Stiles' voice pulled Peter back to the present. He had been drifting in his head. After four years in a coma, this still happened from time to time, especially when he was tired. He never slept on planes though. Actually, he never slept in public, period. Sometimes the nightmares were too much for him even to hold in.

He still recalled the first night he'd been awoken by a bucket of freezing cold water with Stiles standing above him, lips pressed tight and something that flashed vaguely like concern before it disappeared completely from his face. When Peter had uttered his thanks, the younger man had shrugged and removed himself from the room, as if it was an every day occurrence to listen to a man screaming himself hoarse for help because he was burning.

Peter still didn't know what to think of the man. Each time he started to get a glimpse to put the whole puzzle together, the picture changed and Stiles became even more elusive and intriguing. Peter didn't think if he lived to be a hundred that he would still ever see the full repertoire of skills in Stiles' arsenal. The man was a living breathing automaton of deadly precision, with a brain that geniuses would envy.

Once the empire had started to crumble the Argents had fled Beacon Hills and the US for France. They wouldn't be hiding for long though. Peter would see to it.

Switching totally off thought, for a second Peter allowed himself to wonder. "Where do you keep them?"

Stiles glanced away from the window of the plane and observed Peter with a single raised brow before he sighed. It was becoming a habit, this long-suffering sigh of his, as if Peter bewildered him all the time.

"If I told you I'd have to kill you."

It was Stiles' pat response to a lot of things, and Peter firmly believed that he meant every word. So whenever that particular phrase surfaced, Peter stopped asking - for his own safety. But truly, where the hell did the man keep his weapons? How did he always get them through airport security? And it was quite an arsenal, a very scary arsenal that he carried with him.

"You should get some rest," Stiles told him, eyes once again focussed at the white beyond the tiny porthole windows. There wouldn't be much time for rest once they landed.

"I'll be fine," he gritted with frustration.

Turning slowly with a furrow in his brow, Stiles insisted, "You're exhausted, Wolf. Sleep." He returned his gave outside. "I'm not going anywhere."

Peter glanced at the side profile of his travelling companion, turned slightly away from him. He breathed deeply and popped the kinks in his neck.

"Promise," Stiles said, and Peter settled in, eyes drifting close. For some reason he knew his usual demons would not surface with this man standing (sitting) sentinel.

He was shaken awake as they landed, feeling marginally better.

\----

It was a hell of a thing. Stiles was beginning to wonder about Peter's connections, when yet another security agent smiled and waved them through the doors of the secure wing .

They were headed to the main security office at the airport to another of Hale's contacts. Stiles paused to wonder briefly if the wolf had slept with this one as well - like the last three he'd met - as a gorgeous woman with a frown between her brows and an off-kilter smile rose to meet them, eminating the smell of fresh flowers as easily as she did sensuality and a sharp sense of efficiency.

Yeah, he thought. Definitely another mistress, or past mistress.

The wolf turned to smile at him as if he knew exactly what he'd been thinking, and Stiles reigned in his emotions with firm hand. This just wouldn't do.

Peter shook his head at the hunter and embraced Monique. "You've been busy, I hear, and see," she said with a speculative glance behind him at Stiles.

"Monique La Rue, Stiles Stilinski. Monique is head of security here, Stiles is..."

"I know who he is," she said, slight apprehension in her voice as the earlier frown deepened. "What in the world have you got yourself into here Peter? First you call and tell me you need my help tracking down two people who might be in my country, now you're working with a hunter?"

"Bounty hunter ... if we're being specific here," Stiles quipped evilly.

Peter gave him a droll stare as Monique blinked, and then a second set of eyes behind the obvious ones blinked again. It was testament to her discomfort that she was rattled enough for that to happen, Peter thought. Monique wasn't easily unsettled.

"I come in peace?" Stiles raised that impervious brown and executed the Vulcan salute, in humour. "Well, mostly."

Peter gave in to the urge to roll his eyes at the younger man and turned back to the security expert, as she circled her desk and swung her monitor in his direction. "He's harmless."

"Hardly, Peter," she said briefly before looking intently at Peter. "That aside Peter, I think you need to prepare yourself for what I'm about to show you." With a weighted sigh she returned to the screen. "The two you are looking for came through last month, on the 24th, and they weren't travelling light nor alone. There were at least four heavy hitters, and that's only the ones they were travelling with. I detected another five in the airport watching their progress as they left, to make sure they weren't followed, but those ones left separately.

"By the time the Argents got outside," she executed a quickly typed command and another feed, this time from the camera on the outside featured a large muscular man moving to take over, pushing Gerard up to a waiting car just outside the airport doors. 

Peter went still. It couldn't be. He wouldn't... no... he simply wouldn't...

"I know what you're thinking and Peter, I think you need to leave this, whatever this is that you've got yourself into, leave this. Go home."

"I no longer have a home because of them," he growled, "besides I can't. Not now." As he said it the wooden desk beneath his claws creaked, and there was the sound of splintering as his hand all but obliterated the oak beneath his hands.

Peter turned and strode into the adjoining bathroom, closing the door softly, obviously struggling to get his wolf under control. By the time he had turned from the screen he had been half-wolfed out over frighteningly pale skin, leeched of all colour. A glance at the mangled desk he left behind told Stiles that if Peter had wanted to truly harm him before during their struggles at the beach house, he would have been dead, probably with more than a few pulverised bones to add to a stredded throat.

"Whatever it is you are up to, please don't get him killed. I really wish he could just go back to Beacon Hills and put this, whatever it is, behind him but there will be no stopping him now. You need to be prepared for what's going to happen next, Mr. Stilinski."

"Who's that?" Stiles nodded in the direction of the screen and the paused image of a tall, massively muscular bald man.

"His cousin, Ennis. We thought he'd died in the Hale fire. He'd gone to find a way out, at least that's what we all thought. He was in the first wing to collapse that night. To find him here, working with the Argents..." Monique exhaled roughly. "Don't let him go back to the man he was when he woke up after the fire, please."

"He says the Argents were responsible for the fire." Stiles' voice was devoid of all emotion as he glanced at the door through which Peter had disappeared. If a Hale, was working alongside the Argents, the implications were devastating.

"We'd thought... all along we thought Derek... That Argent woman seduced him. We all thought it was how she got in. All these years we thought it was Derek. Peter blamed him." She shook her head as sleek black strands of hair fell over her eyes when she bowed pained eyes. "You have to understand. Derek ... Derek was Peter's favourite. His absolute favourite. He blamed himself for not seeing what was happening, but Peter was about to become a father and what man wouldn't be distracted by that? He and his wife were so anxious because they didn't know if their son would be human or not. 

"Amy was human you see. Peter's always said if he'd paid more attention to Derek, maybe he would have caught it before anything happened. Even so, he blamed Derek, not for being seduced by a woman, but because of the loss of his family... the loss of their family... and all along, Ennis..." Her voice broke as she tried to haul back the emotion.

"He was always so jealous of Peter. He wanted to be Talia's right hand. He'd always craved the position, but not this. Not like this..." the pain in her voice trailed off as the bathroom door clicked open and a calm Peter emerged.

There was a resolve to his face that Stiles had not seen before. In the past four weeks that they'd been slowly working their way back to the Argents, Stiles had seen a teasing Peter, a sassy Peter, a deadly Peter, but this, he did not know the man that stood before him. This man looked like Armageddon had arrived to realise something worse had beaten it to the door. 

Retribution would be hell on earth.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends... hot and bloody...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again guys, Internet issues. 
> 
> Here's the last chapter as promised. Not quite five days, but definitely five chapters. My first fanfic is now complete. This chapter has quite a bit of gore, descriptive gore, so if that's not your cup of joe, I understand. 
> 
> I'm more a romance writer than an action writer, so you can tell me how the scenes played out to you, I welcome the feedback. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

The silence was starting to unnerve Stiles as they drove across Paris in a rental. Peter had said very little since leaving the airport. Even when they'd stopped to eat, his responses were monosyllabic. Stiles knew the wolf had to be holding in a lot of unresolved emotions about his cousin, and given what Monique had said the silence worried Stiles.

If Peter had been destructive and feral it would have been better than this cold deliberate silence and politeness. Peter had been extremely polite, asking Stiles softly what he felt like eating, ordering and offering to pay for their food, he'd even asked for an excuse when they'd pulled into the gas station for a bathroom break.

Stiles was about ready to push a few buttons just to ensure the resultant explosion would get a few of the more volatile emotions out of the way. Sure he wanted every damn one of these parasites that preyed on the supernatural dead, but he was starting to worry about what Peter's reaction would be when they found their targets. Stiles still remembered the file he had seen of what Peter had done to two of the men that had been reportedly responsible for the Hale fire.

As much as Stiles knew - or at least was convinced Kate Argent would die a most painful death - a shudder ran through him at the thought of what he would do to Ennis. He just hoped he was not forced to end the wolf if he turned feral as a result.

"You stink of anxiety."

The comment was so matter-of-fact it startled Stiles out of his reverie. When he glanced at the wolf, he had one eyebrow raised and a bored look on his face, but bone-white fingers clutched the steering wheel in a death grip, almost like it was grounding him in the here and now. Stiles almost leaned over to rest a hand on the clenched fists... almost.

Right now though, he knew Peter was on the edge and he did not want to be the thing that tipped him over, especially in the tight confines of the rented jeep. Blood was a bitch to remove even with the right chemicals.

So in response Stiles merely exhaled. "Then maybe you should stop sniffing me, Wolf. I'm sure that nose could be put to better use somewhere else."

For a fraction of a moment the strangle hold on the steering wheel eased, as a light glowed in his travelling companions eyes. Peter glanced at him and Stiles knew that look was nothing but mischief, and the next words confirmed it. "I can think of a few things I could do with both nose and mouth, at the same time even, if you'd like."

"Keep dreaming, Wolf." But when he glance away out the passenger side window, a smirk crossed Stiles' face that the tension had lessened. It was by no stretch of the imagination broken, but he could breathe a little easier knowing the wolf was a little further back from the edge.

"I'm not going to dive off the deep end you know."

Stiles' head whipped around at the unexpected, open comment. He simply stared at Peter as they left the edges of the City behind for a quiet stretch of road, ever closer to their mark. A few strategic calls from Monique before they had arrived in France had yielded the name of an estate, just outside the City and secluded. It was believed to belong to one of the main beneficiaries in this dastardly ring, and where the Argents were hiding out.

Peter had called some contacts of his own and they were headed to a safe house not far away to meet with their back-up and strategise, with the hope, even if not the expectation, to catch their targets off-guard.

Right now though, Stiles weighed his words carefully, mind far from what would happen later that evening. "If we're both honest, all of this is deep end. There's no shallow wading water here. It's plunge and die or just die at this stage. While I admire your strength and respect your right to hold a lot of this to your chest, it's a lot bigger than just you now, Peter, and that's what worries me. That we're in so deep that I may not be there to pull you back when you get submerged in the even darker history that's now attached to this thing like a cancer.

"A smuggling ring I can handle. It's clear cut - kill those responsible, free and help the victims. This now has a background with a family angle that blurs the lines and make this not just dirty, but murky. Murky is dangerous and not the kind of dangerous I like dipping my toes in. This kinda dangerous leaves too many bodies behind and sometimes the bodies end up being those you would rather not lose." Stiles gaze was direct and Peter looked away to pull over.

Silence descended again.

Staring straight ahead out the windscreen as a slightly chilly late afternoon breeze ruffled his hair and tickled his ear, Peter bowed his head briefly, and said in a sad, wary and lost voice. "I can't turn back now, Stiles. I wish I could. I wish for both our sakes I could just let this go. Just let it be about killing Kate, shutting down a smuggling ring, dusting my hands and going home to a happily ever after. But knowing I might not live beyond tomorrow doesn't even faze me. I wish that to protect you and the others joining us that it could - oh you have no idea. But I will give my last breath if it means Ennis is no longer on this earth."

It was all delivered in a flat final tone that told Stiles he meant every word. Spearing him with a sharp gaze that was so blue it chilled, Peter stated: "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"If you want out, I won't hold it against you, I won't try to stop you. But I can't breathe until this is done."

After a few minutes of silence and seeming to make up his mind, the hunter replied, "Then lead the way, Wolf... and I swear if you die I'm gonna sail my way into hell to kick your ass...

"It was as much of a declaration of anything between them as he would get before this thing was over. With a nod he acknowledged it and pulled the car back onto the road.

"And by the way," Stiles continued softly but with steel behind his voice, "you don't need to protect me. I'm quite capable all by my lonesome."

By the time it started to pink in the late evening sky, they were pulling up at what looked very much like a countryside farm house. There were three people standing out front, and one of them gave Peter considerable pause.

Stepping from the car, Peter pinned him with a glare -- concern, frustration, exasperation, pain, sorrow, it all came back swiftly and he knew the other wolves present could smell his conflicting emotions and that only served to kick in a flint of anger for good measure. "And what are you doing here, nephew."

Silent but loud, pissed off eyebrows rose to his hairline as Derek returned drolly, "What do you think?" And with that, as rude as he always is, Derek turned and led the way back into the house. 

Another glance and nod of acknowledgement went to Warren and Echelon, two werewolf brothers he had known all his life, and Peter introduced Stiles around before following his wayward nephew to where the other four friends in the posse - Francesco, Markos, Karina and Seph, were waiting. It was a small group of various supernaturals compared to the army that would surely be at the mansion but it was better than the two they started out from the Caribbean with.

\----

They'd only hit the palacial residence 15 minutes ago and already there was smoke billowing from the east wing. The occupants had been waiting for them as expected.

Peter knew without a doubt that someone had pissed Karina off enough that the Russian pheonix had just ignited an entire wing of the estate in anger. Considering his history with fire, Peter noted it as a likely place not to try rushing into and severed the throat of the idiot that had rushed at him with what looked like a cattle prod.

He'd expected a more formidable army. Even with two healing wolfbane tipped gunshot wounds that Stiles had paused quickly to treat after dispatching the two snipers to the afterlife, had done little to slow Peter down. He was on a hunt and he knew the Argents were still on the compound somewhere. The were-eagle, Francesco had verified it.

Derek had been delegated to the north wing where a surprising inside source had confirmed there were still victims being held. His task, along with the mercenary known as Braeden, their source, was to free them and take them to safety. Knowing Derek's penchant for ended up kidnapped or caught and bleeding to death, the group had been adamant about him needing back-up. The girl was equally surprisingly resourceful.

Through the entire assault, Stiles had hardly left his sight and again Peter found himself with a moment to admire the man's skills before he dashed down a flight of stairs to the supposedly secret passage ways beneath the residence. The fire, he knew, would bring authorities sooner rather than later so they needed to move - now.

Peter rounded a corner to a face full of dust. By the burning that instantly attacked his lungs and face, he knew it was powdered wolfsbane. He coughed as something metal connected with the side of his head. He heard the soft patter of feet before an outraged scream pierced and reverbarated in the enclosed tunnel.

Peter coughed and it felt like he was displacing one of his lungs as the raw coppery taste of iron filled his mouth. Two seconds later a stinging pinch on his neck told him it was Stiles who had arrived and was injecting him with atropine. The burning on his skin was considerable, blinding almost, as he held in the roar.

Stiles moved past him swiftly and he heard the sounds of fighting as his vision blurred for a few more minutes. He was a sitting duck, or more literally, a sitting wolf here if the antidote did not kick in fast. He hoped he had not ingested enough to render the antidote ineffective.

\----

The bitch. He'd almost panicked the moment Peter went down, but years of training forged to the surface and had him dragging daggers from their sheaths and throwing them at the Argent woman before he even reached Peter's side. The first one embedded itself in her wrist and the second jammed into her shoulder with enough force to pitch her stumbling backward as she dropped the tyre iron she'd had clutched in her hand.

Stiles only spared a moment to retrieve the antidote from its pouch, inject the wolf and keep moving. He wanted to keep his promise to the wolf that Peter and only Peter would be the one to kill her, but the moment the thought surfaced his heart did a quick tap dance and he had to force himself not to look back for fear he would see a dead Peter behind him. The Wolf was damn stubborn. Stiles should have been the first into the passage, but the kicking, screaming thought-he-was-a-kung-fu-artist idiot he was trying to put out of commission moments before had taken a surprising amount of time to die. Who would have thought?

So he'd been a few steps behind the Wolf when he'd seen the dust and knew immediately what was happening. As he battled Kate, who had quite agile for a woman with three inches of ninja blade in one shoulder, he caught sight of a large shadow fast approaching from his peripherals. No doubt Ennis was about to join the battle. Well if he was about to die, he'd be damned if he'd make it easy.

He pulled his favourite weapon, the Wolverine, from his waist, slashing Kate across the shin, as she spun a kick at his ribs. The resulting scream was satisfying. It wasn't a large knife, but it was deadly when used correctly.

Just as suddenly as he grinned with some degree of triumph, Stiles was sailing through the air, back connecting painfully with a nearby wall, dust showering his head and shoulders when he crumpled to the ground with a groan. 

Ennis! The man hit like a sledge hammer.

Pushing his way quickly to his feet again, he was prepared to face the demon of a wolf head on, but before he could even advance, Peter was there with a deadly roar. Ennis had the grace to chuckle darkly, and egg on his opponent.

"Oh dear, cousin, is this one yours? Don't worry I'll take care of him just like the rest once I'm done with you. I promise this time to spare you the screams," and the damn man grinned at Peter - grinned at him. Now that was just asking for trouble. 

With narrowed eyes and a roar of anger, anguish and fury, the smaller wolf and charge his cousin.

The two collided, snarling, claws slashing, but Stiles could see Peter was still not 100% after the wolfsbane powder. If he didn't do something his Wolf would end up dead. The thought had not yet solidified in his mind when Peter's back crashed into the side of the passage, Ennis on top of him, slashing him to bits. No more time to think, Stiles drew his wolfsbane tipped Hibben Legion Fighter from his boot, took a run at the wall, jumping as high as he could to give himself momentum to use the wall as a springboard. Knife in hand, he brought the blade down into Ennis' neck.

The howl would have turned a lesser mortal's blood to water, but he was Stiles Stilinski. It surprised a guffaw out of him, as he dropped to the ground with considerable strength for a man that small, breaking the blade from its hilt and leaving it imbedded in the bastard's neck. By the time Ennis spung in anger to advance on him, Stiles had already danced out of range, with enough time to allow Peter to regain his breath and launch another attack on the traitor.

A bellow was part anger, part pride, part triumph erupted from Peter who jumped onto Ennis' back, ramming all ten claws into his chest, arms like tight, secure bands around the man from behind. The yelp, Stiles thought, was most satisfying. The eyes that connected with his over the shoulder of the flailing wolf who was trying to detatch Peter from his back, were triumphant and grateful. Stiles bounced on his toes as he watched, ready to wade in again, but guarding their position in case of other surprise attacks.

Peter began to work his fingers in deep and the sound of tearing was cringe-worthy, the smell of blood cloying and the air in the tunnel damp with rot. He thrashed, he bayed, he wailed and finally he whimpered as Peter separated the wolf's ribs to display a pounding almost purple organ, bruised but still beating. 

Removing his right hand from the cavity, as Ennis scratched and clawed him with what now had to be ultimate fear, Peter reached in and tore the organ from its pride of place, slumping to the floor with the now dead wolf, but a jubilant, bloody smile on his face. Stiles should be scared right about now, but his only thoughts were on the two loose ends that needed tying up.

As if reading his mind, Peter nodded and they proceeded down into the belly of the tunnel at a leisurely pace ready to end this night and leave this place behind.

Kate stood, gun in one hand, mace can in the other, in front of her father as the old man hefted a shot gun up to his shoulder and fired. Peter had the quick presence of mind to react, pushing Stiles out of the way as the younger man tossed several of his knives. The sound of a gun clattering to the ground followed by Kate's outraged scream confirmed Stiles' usual deadly accuracy.

Without even the slightest pause, Peter launched himself at the screaming woman, slicing and wrenching her head from her body in one swift, tearing move, and lauched it down the end of the tunnel like a bowling ball seeking its target at the end of the lane.

The silence that rebounded off the walls was startling with the abrupt cut of the scream. It was then that Peter heard someone shouting their names. It sounded like Echelon. One last glance at the two bodies, Peter and Stiles turned simultaneously rushing to the entrance.

At the head of the tunnel they found Echelon, with a bloody Warren slumped over his shoulder, leaning heavy but breathing, alive. The chirp of a phone had Stiles reaching into his pocket. Braeden was reporting in, all was well, Derek still alive.

"What the hell is wrong with you guys. Those are sirens, no doubt heading this way. Let's get a move on people," Karina yelled at them.

One last look and literally the click of a finger had fire already racing up the nearby curtains. Stiles was still amazed every time he watched the pheonix start a fire. He'd never imagined that's how it could happen. A shove on his shoulder got him moving, Peter shaking his head as if he knew the hunter had been lost in absent thought a moment before.

"Battered but alive. Bad guys dead, victims rescued. I'd say we had a successful operation despite a certain wolf trying to get himself killed,"

"I wasn't trying to get myself killed, Stiles," Peter argued as he slid the door of the SUV open. "It's called hunting the enemy. I thought you would be well acquainted with what it looks like after all these years of doing just that."

"Oh is that so, because you ran face first into a powdered cloud of wolfsbane. How the fuck are you a wolf and did not hear her first?"

"I was a little distracted, if you must know," Peter returned sharply, swinging around to face an angry Stiles.

"Distracted? You could have been killed. I told you not to die on me. I recall specifically using those words just this morning. Were you not listening? You ever try something that foolish again, I'll..." Stiles cut himself off instantly as he realised what had just come out of his mouth.

"Finish it. What is it you are going to do?"

"You are a pain in my ass, you know that?"

"Not yet!" Peter reached out, and dragged him in by a fist full of blood splattered plaid.

"You said you were going to be careful," Stiles barreled on, undeterred. "You ever take a stupid chance like that again, I'll be the one to kill you myself, Wolf. Do you understand me?"

"I'd expect nothing less," Peter smirked before pressing the hunter into the side of the van and leaning into his space.

THE END


End file.
